When the Wind Blows
by Method in Madness
Summary: Camelot was reduced to a blood-stained, decaying field of bodies; the once mighty city fallen to ash. The final battle. AU death fic.


**This is a repost from my original account :)**

**I apologise for this… it's very angsty. I don't even know if I like this, but I got tired of tweaking around with it and just decided to post it as it is. I hope you enjoy, and please read and review :)**

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**When the Wind Blows**

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_Hope is the thing with feathers_

_That perches in the soul,_

_And sings the tune- without the words,_

_And never stops at all. _– Emily Dickinson

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It was a beautiful night. The bright lights of the stars contrasted with the dark of the sky, small circles of comfort in a hopeless horizon.

Two men walked stealthily toward the black edge of the forest. Their steps were confident and quick, though the set of their shoulders suggested they were exhausted and worn. They wore hooded cloaks that covered their faces and bodies, which would have made it impossible to differentiate between the two, if not for one being noticeably skinnier and taller, and the broadness of the other's shoulders.

They reached the cover of the looming tall trees in silence, lowering the coarse fabric of their hoods. They looked at one another, the ghost of a smile dancing across their lips and playing in their eyes.

"Ready?" One asked the other, his low voice quiet, but full of anticipation.

"Always."

Both men tossed their billowing cloaks to the floor and, startling the peaceful birds hidden in the trees, began to run.

A breathless laugh escaped one of their mouths, becoming lost in the roar of the wind. They ran through the maze of trees and bushes, never faltering in their steps, uncaring of the fact that they could barely see the path in front of them. It was as if they were birds freed from their cage, content to familiarise themselves with the world they had been kept captive from.

Much later, these men sat at the foot of two trees, the bark rough against their backs and their eyes closed; content with the moment.

"They're in this forest, you know." one said, finally, his eyes opening suddenly. "Hiding somewhere in this forest, waiting for tomorrow. Waiting to attack, and destroy our home. My kingdom."

The other nodded, unsmiling and solemn, as the first continued.

"You could leave. I won't hate you- the opposite in fact. It is my duty to protect the kingdom, but not yours. You could escape."

"It may not be my duty to protect the kingdom, but it is my duty to protect _you_. I have sworn allegiance to you, as your subject and as your friend. I will not leave. We've been through much together, and I will not abandon you."

The next spoken words were broken and bitter.

"Not even you can change fate. Hope has gone."

Blue eyes swirling with comforting gold met broken cobalt.

"Hope stays within our hearts; it will never leave. Do not be so quick to give up, because I will never do so. I trust in us, and our destiny."

Both men fell silent, sitting there, drinking in the other's presence, until dawn overtook the black of the night, and they were compelled to leave the false comfort of the forest.

.

.

.

It was a blurry haze of destruction. Swords plunged into bodies and came out drenched in scarlet. Men fell to the ground, their last breath resounding in their ears. Eyes, glassy and unseeing, stared at the enemy accusingly. The clanging of swords and shouts of terrified civilians was all that could be heard and the metallic stench of blood filled the air. Camelot was reduced to a blood-stained, decaying field of bodies, the once mighty city fallen to ash.

The handsome king clad in shining armour fought with all his power. The sun glinted off his blade as he swung and stabbed at the enemy, his face grief-stricken and determined. Next to him, the pale, dark haired warlock twirled to avoid swords and spells alike, his eyes glowing a fierce, molten gold as he incanted powerful spells. They stood side-by-side, equals in the battle for their home.

The two fought hard, but eventually, even the bravest and most powerful must begin to weaken. The king's movements became slightly sluggish; the warlock shouted spells with less intensity. But still, hope did not abandon.

.

.

.

It was many hours before the king dropped his sword and the warlock's arm fell, and instantly, they were surrounded by cruel faces and murderous intent.

"Has hope left yet?" the king asked his greatest friend, as a sword poked harshly into his back. His shoulders were slumped with fatigue, his eyes drooping but still managing to pierce the enemy with a glare as fierce as a wild beast's.

"It lives on… in those who have escaped the horrors of this day," the warlock panted, a dagger pressing between his own shoulder blades. "A hope that will one day rebuild a kingdom."

Blue eyes swirling with comforting gold met broken cobalt for the last time, until they were forced apart.

.

.

.

"A great king," the enemy jeered. "Said to be the most noble, just, _fair _king that Albion has ever known. A king that cares not of status or nobility, but of character and morality! A king lying before us, bruised and broken, his own beliefs having caused his fall from grace. Well, _my Lord, _tell me. Was it worth it?"

Lying in the ruins of a once great city, a king sobbed. _Yes, _he would have said if he were able**. **_Every single second._

In his last moments, he thought of the warlock and his lost subjects.

.

.

.

The warlock screamed as he felt the lick of the flames rise higher, enveloping his legs. He choked on the dark ashes and thick, heavy smoke, feeling it crawl down his throat and enter his lungs. Closing his eyes, not wishing to witness his own destruction, he tried to will his mind away, but could not focus on anything but the searing, intense, agonising pain, burning like a thousand suns on his skin.

On his wrist, a bracelet gleamed silver, locking his magic deep inside him, where he was unable to reach it.

In his last moments, he thought of his king.

.

.

.

The strings of destiny were cut but hope remained.

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**Phew…There it is. You would not **_**believe **_**how long it took me to write it... To be honest, I'm just relieved it's finished :) Oh, and for anybody who's curious, I imagine Merlin and Arthur to be in their late forties in this, though I suppose any age works. And the enemy army could be anybody- I didn't have a specific one in mind. :D Thanks for reading! **


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